


The Insane Love Series

by purplecyphers



Category: Batman Begins/Dark Knight
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-22
Updated: 2009-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplecyphers/pseuds/purplecyphers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[IN PROGRESS/ON HOLD; EDITED & UPDATED] These came about from the Team Knight Vs. Anarchy Challenge on the Batman/Joker LiveJournal Community. (Joker's POV; SLASH; told in a non-linear format, you can piece together rest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Masked Man He Loved Insanely...

He liked rough fucking. Had once tried to 'make love' or 'have sex' and it just made him feel things he didn't like. Like tenderness and caring. So he avoided that at all cost. Also took him a long time to find someone who liked fucking his way. Surprised him to find out his Bat was just as rough, if not more so. Even more surprising was that his Bat took him to a nice pad, somewhere under the city of course, and they fucked for over a week before he was given back to the loons at Arkham. Being known for fighting his Bat, no one asked about the marks, ones he wore with pride. They were signs that he could easily break someone as thick-skinned as his Bat, while still retaining some of that virtue.

Of course, to tango once again, the Joker got out of the asylum faster every time he was taken back, the memory of their last time always at the forefront of his mind. He never let his Bat on that the fucking was his reason for constantly getting out, and constantly seeking out the vigilante. That would give the game away. If his Bat asked him to try and get help, to let the loons analyse him and all that came with it, he would let it last until he believed he would snap, crawling out in laughter and madness to get his fix. He knew he could easily survive without his Bat, that he had no doubt. Just didn't want to, didn't want anyone to hurt his Bat either. There were a few times he broke out just to rough up or kill the creature, or multiples, who would dare to hurt or kill his Bat. He wasn't possessive often, but when he was, all beware. When the Cat came to town, he had to fight with more venom than before, meeting up with his Bat to constantly remind him who he committed to first.

The strange thing was, his Bat complied, even agreed. When he went after the Cat to get her off his Bat, she put up a fight, and even propositioned him, but he was raised that once you give yourself to someone, you are to have no one else. He expected the same from his Bat, and surprisingly got it. What was more surprising was, after almost four years of this dance, his Bat came after him, craving him. The elated feeling in the pit of his stomach told him he should hate this, told him that those feelings were coming back. By then, he no longer cared. He had someone who wanted him, for the first time in his life. Albeit they were still violent toward one another, still kicked each other's ass every chance possible. Mostly, those encounters ended with him being put back in Arkham with a bite mark or two on his neck and chest. These were always the time he would get out faster, of course, yet when he was taken without any markings, he remained in the asylum, resting it would seem. Oblivious as always, the loons never noticed. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted to savour his memories, try to remember the physical caresses as if he were with his Bat that very moment. Once he couldn't stand that any longer, he broke out once more, going after it with all his being. Every fibre used to reach that place again, whatever that place was.

It was a year after their first sexual encounter, and he could still remember it, the way he was pounded into, teeth grinding into his shoulder, screams and laughs of pain and pleasure issuing from his carved smile. The way his Bat would hold his pulsing cock, fisting him as he was being taken, in more ways than one. That first time was the beginning of a great adventure, a grand performance, a sublime treat. He didn't know how long it would go on, nor did he care to think about it ending. If he could, they would tango like this forever—the Batman and the Joker, two of a kind, yin and yang, star-crossed lovers of the fierce kind.

All this crossed his mind during another of their sordid affairs, one of the rare times when he took the Bat, his Bat, to the throes with his wild, crushing moves. And he regretted, for the slowest and shortest of moments, not finding out who he was fucking, this masked man he loved insanely. Yet he kept going, kept pushing, kept up the banging, hoping one day he wouldn't be taken back to the loons, hoping one day they could forever do this dance. He wondered, briefly, if uncovering who his Bat really was would ensure that, if the knowledge would keep them all the closer together…


	2. This Masked Man He Loved Insanely...

Upon reflection, he knew it was the wrong thing to say, the worse thing to say, while being fucked by his lovely Bat. He hadn't said it since the first real time they had talked, the first real time that he pushed his Bat to the edge of his brand of sanity. For a long time, he had forgotten about those words, he didn't know why, but once they came back to him, he couldn't allow himself to forget them again. He had them on the tip of his tongue, and it wasn't until he felt his Bat's cock pulsing out his feelings, and the blinding joy of his own release, that they fell from his lips.

_ "You complete me." _

Upon reflection, something he was not highly prone to, he knew he was asking for the worst the moment those words crossed his psychotic mind. Of all the bad luck to fall on him, it had to be because of those words. Knew he could be destroying the rocky and toxic relationship he had with his Bat by even entertaining the possibility, even hoping that there was more to them than just punches and pounding flesh, bites and rough sex. He knew it was too much to hope that his Bat would ever open up to him, and he wasn't the sort of madman to let his guard down easily to anyone, even someone he, privately, admitted to loving. Even if that love lacked tenderness.

_ "Then you're going to love me." _

Upon reflection, even if those words weren't meant that way, he cared to view it that, having been said to him, he could twist the meaning and manner of those words any way he pleased. And he was greatly pleased to hear them in his head every time the Bat—no his Bat—was pounding into him, his own cock bouncing with every thrust, screams of pleasure mixing with laughter, making it harder and harder for him to keep his deepest, darkest secret desire secret much longer. When it came tumbling out of his mouth, that damnable phrase, his Bat had just spent himself, and he was just on the cusp. That didn't matter anymore, as he was thrown across the room. Laying there on the floor, cleaning up the trickle of blood from his nose, watching his Bat disappear into the night.

_ "See, I'm a man of simple tastes." _

Upon reflection, he knew then that his simple tastes had changed forever, and he would do anything to get that back. He wouldn't give up his values, and he wouldn't give up the sensibility he had. No, he would fight, he would maim, he would prove to the Bat—to his Bat—that he deserved him, that he was right. His Bat just couldn't have him whenever he wanted and think that it would be easy to cast him aside, he wouldn't let him. He would do whatever it took to show his Bat that he was a possessive lover, and only when he said it was over, was it over. Wouldn't let this little bit of bad luck get him down. No, he would fight, and he would get back what was rightfully his.

_ "You've changed things, forever." _

Upon reflection, he knew it would be hard, but he wasn't going to let one instance of bad luck, bad timing, and wonderful sex get him down. Of course, the thought made him hard, so he knew he wouldn't be down for long anyway.


	3. Unnatural While Being Completely Natural...

I am a captive of chance. In this place I am restrained, living a life of solid moments in which I cannot understand true meanings. Here I lie, in my makeshift womb. Living a life I wish would end. But it cannot, for I am captive of more than just chance. I am a captive of the world's twisted sense of justice, and in that, I am struggling to break free. But for now, this is a place in which I must exist, if only to keep myself moving. If only I could destroy this place, make my life meaningful once again. I wish only that, and yet so much more. Nothing would do me better than death, and if not death, eternal damnation instead.

Death is a natural thing, right? And yet death seems so unnatural while being completely natural. Nothing like how we treat life: something you must wear until its end, tattered and crippled, hurt and in despair. That is what I see happening. too many people taking advantage of that little trick of life. We begin to die from the moment of conception, it just progresses. We grow, and like plants, we die. Maybe we're reborn again, like some plants: trees, flowers, cactus, weeds. And yet, maybe we live just once. Maybe some people, who say they remember a past life, are just wishing that it were true so badly that to them it is reality, not fantasy. And then, you think, if there are people who lose their ability to distinguish reality from fantasy, then is belief in self-created ideas the beginning of that very insanity?

Angst is an emotion I have become well acquainted with over the years. It was so long ago I was a captive of my own insanity. Until I found masochism to be my outlet of restraint. And then I found I enjoyed sharing the pain, and my sadistic side flourished. And in sharing myself with people, I gained back some of my sanity, all the while telling people life is short if you let it pass you by. I don't remember what happened to all those people I used to 'help', but I do know that are indefinitely where they want to be. maybe I should join them. Freedom, death—they are the same thing. Maybe I should become one with them, turn my eyes from this world at last and join the absolute end. Finish my world with a proud moment of my own demise. This is the end. This is my death. I have made my choice. I will…

But then I think of the Bat, I think of him and his cock, and all the feelings that gives me, and I know I cannot go just yet. I should never compromise the lovely yet strange relationship I have with him. I notice quickly, however, how he keeps visiting at night, standing outside in a place I can clearly see him, possibly waiting for me to break out of this shell and come back into his bone-crushing embrace. And I don't want to disappoint him, but doesn't he see how they have me dumbed down by so much shit that I can't even think straight, that I can't even think straight, that I can't even begin to contemplate how, how, how to get out of this hell-hole. so I dream, I dream, I dream…

The fresh air is relaxing to my lungs, my mind, my heart, my soul, me. I walk, on the road of my destination. Nature all around me. Engulfing, the corpses of the trees reach out to me, yet I eagerly await their touches caresses movement. The simple care they give as they touch me, caress me, move with me. And these branches are like fingers. The corpse comes to life, immortalising me into them, running their fingers across my skin. They move me, making love to me. These corpses whisper adoration, praise, love, all manner of things to my sensitive mind. These things I have wanted for so long. And they mean their words, they mean the touches. My emotions are overwhelmed as they take me over completely, taking me into their world. The long slender fingers take me into their entity, a beautiful mass of light and sound that I cannot see nor hear with my senses, but with my emotions. The air is thick, I feel it covering, and as I leave, it returns with me, a taste of spice and sweetness. And I am moving on, my moment shared, my soul flying, my soul flying like a bat…

I've got to get out of this place, out of this place, or what little piece of sanity I have will be gone. To pass the time, since sleeping and dreaming are now out of the picture, I pace. Door to wall, wall to door, door to wall, again and again. I hear a tapping on my door, and cannot help but tap right back. A voice tells me to get under the bed, and in my state, I am inclined to obey. Shortly after jamming my body under the metal frame, the door is blasted into the room, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. Standing where the door once was is my new therapist, Harleen Qunizel, a smug look on her face. She's been captivated with me for some time, having me tell her all about my life and hanging on my every word. I've never told her the truth, but once these drugs they gave me started to mess with my head, I had to stop seeing her. That was, I think, a week ago. Maybe she, in her new-found insanity, decided she wanted more than just my words. She practically drags me behind her, taking me out of the hospital and away from the truly insane, the doctors, who have corrupted my fragile sanity. She tells me sweetly of her devotion, and how, as I suspected, suspected, she claims to love me,  _ love me _ ! I don't know, nor care, where she is taking me, but I'm rather inclined to let her have my body, for now, since it will be so easy to imagine my Bat beneath me, quivering out my name.

Chance has it, I catch a glimpse of the Bat's shadow up in the sky. But for now I will hide away, gaining my head before going out and living once again.


	4. But It Was The Possession...

Sometimes, in the back of my mind, I wonder who he really is. Who is the dark, brooding man in the Kevlar suit. Usually when we're together, although sometimes just because he's on my mind, fractured that be. Bet, sometimes, he wonders who I was, that little secret no one has ever found out. No one has delved deep enough, no one has really wanted to. I think they are afraid, but maybe they are just lazy.

Although they have come close, they haven't yet hit the mark.

A good madman is a dead man. But they don't know that. That's why I am ahead of them, that's why I know where the curve is. I enter, I exit, and I enter again, although the second time around, I'm much different from the first. And the first time, I wasn't very noticeable, I wasn't really seen. That's why it was so easy to come back, different yet the same. Cause you can't see the changes in the mind until you see the changes in actions, and you can't see those changes unless you knew the person before the changes.

Which is why I'm so lucky.

But it was the possession, not the acting, that really got him hot, hungry. Always waiting too, always ready for the next time. Standing on the side, waiting and watching, hoping it comes sooner, faster, than before. The rush of the blade, sweeping, cutting, digging, metaphorically. The thrill, the adrenaline, the head-swimming euphoria that takes me away, then brings me crashing back. The real possession was the kind in the mind, but I thirst for the body's.

Begging was usually beneath me, unless I was beneath him.

Even handed him a knife once, and then gave him a blow job, hoping it would inspire compliance to my request. Just a jagged line, or a simple slice, anything to show me, and only me, his possession on a regular basis. Took me a long time before I came to this, months really. Finally came to the realisation that I needed a constant reminder of who owned me, heart and soul. At least, who created those in me again. As fractured as I am, I also know myself enough to know I once lost my heart, my soul, and a bit of my mind. This masked man, my Bat, gave me new ones, and in that gave me something to look forward to— _ him _ .

Demented, I know, but it wouldn't be the first time.

Came as a big surprise when he finally did it, marking me months later during a coupling I had planned so we had a proper bed. Didn't understand at first why he did it, why he took the only knife I had on me and cut my upper arm, between the shoulder and elbow. almost didn't want to understand as I revelled in the feelings he brought out. He had just given me a rather power orgasm, and since he hadn't finished himself yet, he gave into my insane request and marked me, carved me with his emotions as it were.

Then he revealed more to me than ever before.

Wasn't expecting the mask to come off, and certainly wasn't expected to find a pretty face underneath, a face I, and all of Gotham, knew. A billionaire's smile, honestly, greeted me right before his lips crashed into mine, and for a moment I was stunned. Then I stirred back to life and we fucked again, a new energy in it this time. Granted, there wasn't much blood from the mark, and it healed nicely, but I can still see that mark sometimes. It was deep, but I suppose the sex caused my blood to be elsewhere, so that cut didn't have much to squeeze out. Also kind of glad no one asks about it, because I would hate to have to answer, and I would answer honestly too. Can't help it really, I'm not ashamed of it.

And now, every so often, I get to see that face again, and I get to have the pleasure of knowing that my Bat is more than he seems.


	5. His Own Sordid Obsession...

He wasn't sure how much longer he could fool his Harley into believing the tryst with the Bat, his Bat, were less than they really were. Didn't want her knowing how much he craved the billionaire vigilante, how much more he enjoyed being fucked than fucking. But hey, he wasn't on one side of the boat, he just had his preferences. It was a great secret, then a great pretend, or so he had to convince his Harley. It was moments like these that made him wonder why he allowed her to live, and in the moments when he truly was ready to kill her, his Bat reminded him that killing her could have adverse reactions to their strange romance.

He wouldn't risk that, it was worth too much; his psyche depended on it.

He couldn't let her in on his secret shame, his hidden desires, because she would think him not only a fool, but he might loose the only friendly person in his life other than his dark and somewhat mysterious lover. Didn't want that, couldn't handle that, not now and not ever. She may be a fool, her birthday a perfect indicator of that, but he cared for her in his own corrupted way. She had so much going for her; born on the Day of Fools, blonde, and with such a perfect name!

What clown wouldn't love her?!

But he couldn't help loving the Bat, his Bat—wait, did he dare think of love and his Bat in the same instance? Could it be, with his very new head, very new heart, that he was finally falling in love?! Preposterous, impossible, simply crazy! To convince himself otherwise, he purposely and vindictively fucked his Harley with lost passion and abandon, trying desperately not to imagine his Bat beneath him. Efforts for naught, he left her quivering and satisfied to clean up, then dragged her into the parlour to begin planning their next act of chaos. At least, other than the sex when his Bat wasn't available, his Harley was good at planning.

Boy, what a plan she had in her twisted mind too.

With her birthday so close, they focused on it, a primary joy that gave little else but sore throats and sides. For as much glee as their antics tended to give, he knew without a single doubt that his Harley was very jealous of his Bat. Most often, he didn't know how to deal with that, so he relied upon his great pretend, giving her whatever she wanted to take her mind off his own sordid obsession. Not that his Harley's was much better, considering he was it. That alone was enough to drive him to sanity, were he ever inclined to doing so.

Although that would never, ever happen.

He knew the perfect thing to get her, something that would make her smile and give him some more space, some more time. He had to be sneaky, steal them when no one would noticed, like in transit, and make it look as if they disappeared, like it was someone else's fault. No one knew, no one guessed, and the look on her face was well worth it, because now she had something like his laughter when he was away. He would do almost anything to make her happy like this, to give himself the space he needed to run off for more bedlam fun with his masked man, the dark lover of his dreams and nightmares.


End file.
